


Set fire, with just a little spark

by MayQueen517



Category: DC Comics, DC Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 06:13:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayQueen517/pseuds/MayQueen517
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You gonna lurk all night, chrome dome, or are you gonna come up here?” she calls out, more boldly than she actually feels. She knows exactly who it is. She knows it’s Jason, knows that like she knows the way that a bruise aches when pressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set fire, with just a little spark

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another fic tonight! 
> 
> This time the song prompted was 'Moving In the Dark' by Neon Trees. The lyric, 'set fire with just a little spark' is from the song and one of my favorites.
> 
> Thanks go to VerboseWordsmith again! <3
> 
> This takes place right about after Steph comes back; at this point, she's Spoiler in this one, at the least.

She’s always known about Jason. Jason is her cautionary tale. He is the one that nobody talks about, when everybody talks about Dick. They talk about Tim. They talk about everyone but Jason. Jason has been reduced to a cautionary tale and a memorial case.

It seems fitting, in a way, that she would end up the same. She thinks about that, sitting on top of a building, cape pulled around her as the wind picks up; the feeling and scent muted through the fabric of her mask. It still smells like shit and water, even a bit like something growing which sums up Gotham completely. She tilts her face to the wind, thinking over tales and watching Batman swinging through the air with a familiar shape by his side.

The wind whips at the folds of her costume as she stands, facing the wind and finally seeing the glint that’s been teasing at the edge of her vision all night.

“You gonna lurk all night, chrome dome, or are you gonna come up here?” she calls out, more boldly than she actually feels. She knows exactly who it is. She knows it’s Jason, knows that like she knows the way that a bruise aches when pressed.

“Always so mouthy,” he says, that stupid dome over his head. She wonders if he realizes he looks like a tube of lipstick. Maybe she should tell him.

“Someone’s gotta be around here,” she says, putting her hands on her hips as she steps away from the edge. Liking to banter with Jason does not mean you stand near the edge of a building with him around.

“How’s Daddy Bats taking your glorious return?”

“About as well as when you find a cockroach in your kitchen,” she says bitterly.

“Hey, I have had some perfectly nice nights with cockroaches in my kitchen,” he says and oh Lord, she can hear the leer.

“Alfred was happy,” she says, ignoring it. Jason makes a noise, a hum before he pushes at her shoulder - lightly.

“Tag,” he says, leaping off the building as she blinks. It’s been a long time since she’s played tag with anyone (the last person was Tim. And doesn’t that just suck a big rosy red one?) so she watches after him, gauging his next landing as she shoots off the building, gaining speed and ground as she catches up to him.

It’s rough and tumble for a while, laughter ringing across the tops of buildings before she gets a hand up and knocks on the dome of his helmet. “Tag!” she shouts, darting away with a laugh. Before she can get too far, he grabs at her wrist, dragging her back in. She stops laughing, holding herself still. He reaches up, taking off his helmet and she can see him just barely in the low lights.

“Easy, chickadee,” he says, loosening his hold on her wrist as she stares at him. He purses his lips in thought before he reaches out to her mask, fingers grazing the bottom as he starts to pull it up.

The response is easy; slapping his hand sharply doesn’t do much else but makes him snort with laughter. She pulls her hand out of his grasp, taking a step back and nearly stumbling over a rock.

He snorts, rude and easy as he pulls the dome back on.

“Girl blunder, back on the scene?” he asks, voice stranger than ever in the dome as she shrugs, adjusting the fold.

“Maybe,” she says, wondering if he even hears her. There’s a squeeze of her shoulder before he leaps off the building and goes about his own way as abruptly as always. She lets the wind pull at the fabric around before she heads in the same direction, knowing how chaos follows him.

She’s smiling though, behind the mask.


End file.
